Impossible
by tinyhobbit
Summary: There is a lot more to Officer Bainbridge than meets the eye. Sherlock decides to investigate this, only to find it's something he never imagined could be true. Set sometime after the events of the Deathly Hallows, and His Last Vow. Short oneshot I haven't been able to get out of my head for a while!


_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I own Sherlock. _

Impossible

"Officer Bainbridge."

"Officer _Bainbridge." _

"_Officer Bainbridge, wake up at once." _

Dean Thomas jolted out of a deep sleep, only to double back, gasping and clutching his stomach, "Bloody – _ow."_

"Yes, I imagine you must be in quite a bit of pain, but no matter. Get changed." A pile of neatly folded clothes was dropped on his lap with a dull thud and Dean looked up to see a well-dressed man leering down at him. With wide eyes, Dean saw that he was in an off-white room, with various muggle-looking machines propped around it. The prickling smell of disinfectant invaded his nostrils, and he sniffed as he rubbed his stomach.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded as his head began to clear. The man raised an eyebrow before lifting a long thin stick in the air with two fingers. His breath left him as he recognised his own wand. His stomach seemed to flip at the sight of it, and his hand twitched as his eyes followed its movement as the man brought it back to his own pocket.

"Ah, listening now, are we?" the man said, "As to who I am, my name is Mycroft Holmes, and considering the unvoiced question as to why I am here, it is do with saving your job and not allowing you to break the statute of secrecy due to my little brother's curiosity. Now, will you please _get changed_ before any hospital staff appear, my men can only hold them off for so long without suspicion."

Speechless, Dean looked down at his arm; out of which an IV was protruding.

"Oh, for goodness –" Mycroft muttered before leaning down and yanking it out. Dean let out a yelp as the pain flared in his arm. "Now, how many more times must I voice this – would you _please_ go and get changed, for the love of God. Or Merlin, as you wizards like to say."

Minutes later Dean was being pushed in a wheelchair by this strange man, who, Dean noted, had made no effort to turn away as he got changed. Rather, he stood and tapped a long umbrella against the floor, the time between each tap getting shorter as the seconds ticked on. He didn't know why he should trust this man –if his years at school had taught him anything it was that of "constant vigilance". Maybe it was the fact that he had his wand, or maybe it was because the middle aged man commanded a sort of respect and authority that Dean had only encountered in a few other people. He wondered if he should be fighting back...but without his wand, he didn't know how far he'd get. A kidnapping had never been so easy, he mused.

As Mycroft pushed him further through the hospital, one man dressed in scrubs looked as though he was attempting to stop them. Mycroft didn't even stop, merely flashed a badge at him and continued walking. This apparently satisfied him, as he said nothing else and didn't stop them from proceeding.

Once they were outside, Dean said: "Where are we _going?" _

"Be quiet," he said, passing him his wand. Dean pocketed it, feeling more and more confused as time went on. No matter where he looked, he saw no sign of Mycroft's "men" and was beginning to wonder whether Mycroft had maybe lost his marbles. He looked up to see him fumbling with a slip of paper which was beginning to glow. "Ah, here we go. Hold on to this." He said, passing him the paper. _Portkey_. The word registered in his mind, which was beginning to grow foggy with every passing second.

"But – "

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Officer Bainbridge. Get well soon."

Dean stared up at him, his brow creased, droplets of sweat dripping down his forehead. The ache in his midsection was growing, and when the world started spinning he wasn't sure if it was from the pull of the portkey or from the beginnings of his loss of consciousness.

XXX

"Brother dearest," the tall man said upon entering the room, "No need to stand up in my presence." Sherlock fell into an armchair with sufficient grace, his feet bouncing up to lean on the mahogany table, his arms bent behind his head.

"Sherlock," Mycroft replied, sitting down from where he had been shelving books. "To what do I owe this...pleasure." his small smile was forced, his eyes were glaring.

Sherlock gazed at the roof, "Officer Bainbridge. Why did you discharge him from the hospital? A dangerous thing to do, surely, for a man in his condition."

"A mere officer is hardly of my concern, Sherlock." Mycroft replied, picking up his pain. Sherlock smirked at his brother's attempt to create an air of nonchalance.

"Then why did you discharge him?"

"It should hardly be of your concern, brother."

"But it is." He paused, "It suggests to me that he is more than just a "mere officer"."

Mycroft sighed, putting his pen down. "Officer _Bainbridge_ was transferred to another hospital due to the worry that someone may be after his life. There had been reports of a certain _somebody_ sneaking around the hospital." His gaze was level as he stared his younger brother down. "Do try to cover your tracks more effectively next time."

"No." Sherlock said, his movements sudden as he leaned forward. "That explanation may have made sense, if it had not been you personally who had collected him."

Mycroft was silent, bringing his fingers together underneath his chin before continuing, "This is none of your affair, Sherlock, and it would please me if you would not make it so."

"Very well," Sherlock stood, buttoning his suit jacket and striding across the room.

"Sherlock." Mycroft called. "I mean it. Do not meddle in this one. I'm serious."

Sherlock laughed, as he left the room, letting his voice echo down the hall. "Oh, but you know how I _love_ a mystery."

XXX

Sherlock's mind was racing as the taxi danced through the streets of London. None of this added up, _none _of it. Who was Officer Bainbridge? Mycroft did not do much dirty work – his smooth hands never pulled the trigger, they only ever signed the documents allowing someone else to do so. Very rarely did the criminals see Mycroft – Moriarty being the exception. So what made this one officer so special that not only was he visited by the other Holmes brother, but was escorted somewhere by him?

Logically, Sherlock decided, it was because he wasn't a simple Officer. No, Bainbridge was more than a guard of Buckingham Palace. The question was that if he was more than a guard, more than an officer, what exactly was he?

This led Sherlock on a journey he had never been on before. He was in his element. He researched, he followed people to what looked like disused shops and broken down building sites. He saw people disappear into thin air, he heard small children screaming about wands and broomsticks...The man whose trade was deduction had never thought to open his eyes to what was right in front of him. Unable to believe what seemed so impossible, he retreated to his mind palace.

This was how John Watson found him a few days later, as he sat alone in the now dark living room of 221B Baker St, whispering: "When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, _however improbable_, must be the truth..."

Little did the two men know that soon to join them in the flat were a group of men carrying long, wooden sticks. As they crept up the stairs of 221B, only one word was on their tongues – "obliviate".

_A/N: So I hope you enjoyed this! When I started off, I wasn't really sure where it would go, but I hope this wasn't too disappointing. Let me know what you think! x_


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